I always try to blog, but I end up just blowing it off with some lame excuse. And as you can see, it’s been a while. I need tips on how to blog regularly, I want to start making money out of it.
He was a world renowned journalist, a top dog, the number one on each and every politician’s hit list, Jonathan Spons, a 34 year old married man with two baby girls, lived his whole life with honesty and by the book, although this was a trait that most other journalist also had, there was always something about the way he did every single story in a boring approach but the final product will turn out to be pure gold.
It was not long when Jonathan’s honest living would be tested in the most crucial and deadliest of ways, which would leave him to be a ghost of his former self. A beautiful damsel was dangled in his face with the hope that one day he will break and show his human side, you know, the one where one is not squeaky clean and always has the perfect reaction, perfect solution, perfect words to say in each and every single situation? Yes he was that perfect. But, for how long was he going to play the blind man. Before he even knew it, Jonathan was in knee deep into shit and there seemed to be no way of going back. He tried by all his might to contain the secret of his disgraceful affair with the African cuisine.
The temptation continued for months, and his wife did not suspect a thing, despite his states into space with soft grins and chuckles at the sight of his phone. She just thought it’s just the way he always is, especially if he catches a big fish with a big scandal. He was to later discover that it was all a set up, one of the big fishes he caught saw that there was no way to corrupt him in his work, but as a man he knew that they are all the same especially at the sight of a sexy piece of meat of his special taste. The day his wife found out from the secret sex tapes, all 23 of them, was the day that he lost it all, including his sanity. His wife took the kids and drove off in anger trying to get as far away from him as possible, there was a car coming their way but there was no use. There were no survivors.
Headlines roared for weeks, on news updates, every single journalist was eager to find out the story behind the story; he could see that even some of his colleagues craved to report on it if the opportunity presented itself. And they did. He carried the remaining pieces of himself for as far as he could. Eventually he just broke into a million invisible pieces. No one saw it coming, one week a pattern began, accidents, they started small. One or four in one place within two days and then there was a pour out of them. From bombs in cars to an insane passion of carving up and cutting flesh to make artistic sadistic creations that just creep you up in your skin. People started to use public transports in fear of death that flew over their heads, looking for the next victim. There was no pattern whatsoever, it was not about whether he knew you or not. Piss him off in a bar fight, one night stand from a club, or if you are lucky, he just dozes off at the sight of you with a painful concentration on his face. Pray that you don’t own a car.
Jonathan Spons lost it all, and he knew everyone laughed or gossiped about him from the news, everyone was going to pay. It wasn’t about finding who set him up, it was just about the pleasure he got at the sight of death and blood. The “Sight killer”, the police had finally had him a serial killer name, he felt even more empowered. The killing went from car accidents to pedestrians; he would stab or shoot two or three pedestrians and put them in a position of cars that have collided, in a bloody T-junction style or a crossroad cross. Some would be balanced against one another standing, with their feet glued to the ground. Either on sidewalks, middle of a street, or dark alleys.
This went on for 8 years; the police were on the verge of breaking one way or another, either from the press, angry protests, and a worried sick president. But every good game has to come to an end. His show was soon to come to an end, he finally slipped up and left his blood sample from a victim that scratched her way out till the very end. She was his master piece. He chopped her up into pieces, assembled them into a messed up cross and put her clothes on top of her, knowing very well that his blood was all over them and her body. He put this masterpiece on the busiest streets in the city. When the police came in all their numbers to his house, he was all washed up and dressed in casual sitting on a sofa that he carefully placed to face the door. They barged in screaming and violent, he calmly put out his hands and said ‘take me home baby’. The death sentence was banned, but the secret agency decided that he was far too much of a risk and plus he outsmarted everyone including them for all those years, they were not about to take that risk again. So plans were secretly made to execute him the way terrorists execute their victims. But before they could do this, they asked him questions first. All he said was that he did it for his wife.
What he never knew was that, his wife’s real father was one of the biggest gangsters he brought down, Lony Mhlanfu, his whole operation and empire died with just two articles that were investigated and were found to be accurate. It was all planned out, for her to leave him and take custody of the kids with the proof that he cheated, breaking their vows and destroy his entire family, what was never part of the plan was her dying with his babies. When he was told of all of this, tears ran down his face, all he could say was ‘I killed my babies’. And after what seemed to be a long and painful silence, his final words were ‘shoot me’. After that the country was at peace and the public was told that he committed suicide in the cell he was held at and no one dared to question the accuracy of the story, somewhat out of relief. Still in my eyes I still see that all he was was an innocent man. Punished for doing the right things, and after losing it all, he lost himself.
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I found that the urge for evil was far more thrilling and inviting than any other thing imaginable.
All I had was just us, and perhaps I, at times took it for granted. Before my sister was turned into a public scorn and called a lunatic and a murder, she was just an ordinary young ambitious woman. The girl I know differs from the one whom you think you know. I know her as the sister who always made it a point to protect me and loved and respected her family. The one you now know as, Karabo Hazeek. The so called, “blood thirsty murderer”, whom you all say should be sentenced never to strike again, read all the news headlines that month.
They had have lowered her life to nothing more than just a puppet show, forgetting their place, speaking out tune and forgetting what she had to sacrifice that night all in the name of love. Who am I? I am one of the reasons many newspapers, magazines, and tabloids made the most profits in sales. I am what you turned into a laughing stock, forgetting that we were the victims who acted in self defence despite the gruesome displays. I am now, the one who is to set the record straight to as how her mental state was at the time she did what she did.
I am Jorge Hazeek, Karabo’s little brother and I have decided to tell her story. After what seemed to be months of endless agonising back and forth, I went to visit her where she currently serves her full sentence with no possible chance of parole or a mere house arrest.
For as long as I can remember, Karabo has always had a protective shield towards our family name and more especially with me. Growing up no one could ever mess with me, she was like the big sister I could ever wish for and a brother I never had.
She was born in Hillbrow by a woman who was notoriously known to be a drug lord, and because she did not want to expose her daughter to the kind of lifestyle she was living, she decided long before her birth to give her up for adoption, at least that is the reason she wrote on the piece of note when she left her outside the Saint Mariah Orphanage Home in Soweto. So Karabo stayed in the orphanage for 13 years of her life.
Although it was a decent home with care for every child, it was also tough as no one ever chose her when they came there, her friends were all adopted, all but one, her name was Nicole.
She and Karabo were the rejects of the system, somehow always overlooked and as the years went by they too grew older and that also meant the lesser the chances they had of being adopted. By their 16nth birthday, there was a couple on the other side of town who was told by different specialists that the woman was barren, due to one faulty back door abortion she had when she was just a teenager. And so after much perseverance, the couple finally gave into the idea of adoption.
The couple’s name was Mr and Mrs Hazeek. The couple decided to adopt a new born baby of a nationality other than theirs. A few weeks after their decision, the came across the children’s home located in the Soweto, it was 01-05-2019, around 19:00 AM when they went to the orphanage. Karabo and Nicole were on their way to the home from their Saturday morning stroll, when a gang fight suddenly started not so far from where they were. There was an open fire. Karabo had the advantage of suspecting that something was wrong before hand and started looking around; she tried to warn Nicole who was standing a distance away from her talking to some boy who was just trying his luck.
One of the bullets hit Nicole from the back penetrating through to her heart, and exited just to graze the young man on his right arm barely even injuring him. Karabo ran screaming for help towards the orphanage, that was when they bumped into each other, in the middle of a chaotic rush. My father always called it love at first site, because in that tragic moment, the both knew without even saying a word to each other that she was the one they wanted to take home instead of a new born like they thought.
A year later, I was “accidentally” conceived. The doctor’s explanation was that my mom stopped stressing over having a child and time healed her wounds, allowing the pregnancy to happen, but she had always said that it was all rubbish, and that the truth was I was a miracle child, “it was meant to be that we find Karabo first so we can find you” she would always say.
So, what really happened the night of the alleged cruel murder of the young men who decided to invade our lives? It was a quiet and peaceful night, like any other date night in my family. Karabo had classes all day and said she was tired so she retired to bed earlier than usual. Mom and dad had a date night in the cinema room and ordered that they not be disturbed unless if the house was on fire and if one of us was on fire, then the other should just put them out and not disturb them, dad meant it as a joke of course.
And me, well I decided that I was going to do something that I have been wanting to do that I never gathered the courage to do, call this other girl at my school that I had a crush on since kindergarten, I have always said that I would call and profess my love for her, but each time when she would pick up the call, I would give a silly excuse as to why I called and never do as I intended to do. Either way it was enough just to hear her voice before I went to bed, but that night, oh, that night I was determined, my sister had just told me earlier to think of it as if a doctor had just told me that I was dying the next day and it was the last thing I had to do and had nothing to lose. Funny how that would almost be a reality. Luckily I had the advantage of rehearsing my words without anyone hearing me. Since I joined a school rock band and bought a drum set and put it in my room to practice, it eventually drove my parents to the edge, and they ended up making my room sound proof, so that did not only mean that no one heard me but also meant I couldn’t hear anything outside either, including the first 30 minutes of the guys entering the house that night, my sister and parents version of events come into play.
There were 3 guys, well they were more like 3 drug addicts high school boys, just about my height, looking for the next quick fix.
My sister woke up around midnight, went to the kitchen to get some warm milk as her occasional routine before she goes into her late night studying. They made their grand entrance by breaking the living room’s sliding door, split up to search the other rooms, somehow managed to miss my room. Two of the guys found my parents and held them at gun point, at that moment Karabo said she had a feeling that something was wrong again, like the day her friend died, and so she hid as best as she could in the kitchen.
The third guy found her, the pot on the stove which was ON gave her away. She felt weak and helpless with every passing moment, with every screaming command they made, he shoved her around, harassing her, ordering her around while kicking and shoving her constantly asking where the safe was.About two weeks before that night, was the 10nth year anniversary of Nicole’s death, we were back at the orphanage where we honoured her memory like we did every year. And every year it seemed to get harder for Karabo to deal with the loss, which made my dad to eventually decide that we shouldn’t go there anymore as it only upset Karabo more than it made her come even close to closure.
Every year in the month of the anniversary, Karabo would be at a semi-function mode, she would do all the things just with a dead look on her face, not even a smile, dad would try to make her laugh or talk to her but nothing would ever help. And all I could do was just to go her, and sit next to her in silence, at least I would get a warm embrace from her, which would be a good sign that she is still there, somewhere in there she is not lost in the pain.There would also so be those nights, they never go away. Even though dad would tell us both not to disturb them in date night, he would take to the side and tell me to call them first if Karabo has one of those dreams. She would have sever nightmares since childhood apparently, even at the orphanage, she would cry out loud tears and all but could not open her eyes no matter what, as if she would be trapped somewhere in pain.There it was occasional, but after Nicole’s death it was more bad nights than good.
At times she would feel that she had one of those kinds of nights, sometimes it would be like nothing happened. But when she did, she would always ask me how bad it was, but because she was getting older and older and they still seemed no to go anywhere, she would be insecure about it, especially knowing that I might have seen it happen, I would always say, it was a mere mumble in sleep. I didn’t know if she believed me or not, but I knew it was better than saying it was worse than before.
One night when she was 18, she was so afraid to go to bed, she started cutting herself, my father would always come and sing her favourite lullaby even when she is fast asleep to help ease off bad thoughts, that night he walked into a horror.
There was blood everywhere, and she was still cutting her thighs, her hands covered in blood and open cuts, but the most horrific thing, my father’s said, it was the look on her face, she was happy, smiling and happy. Later when they asked her why she did what she did she said that it felt good. That is felt better than the pain she feels in her dreams, the pain she carries with her every day, that at that moment, it felt good because it kept her awake, the blood kept her blankets wet and cold and the open wounds had a pain that forced her to focus on it and nothing else in her head. It killed my parents to see her like that. But it was one thing to hear your child tell you of the horror she lived, the horror she felt at her every waking moment, than to see her demons come alive right before your eyes. And that is what we saw that night, and there was no unseeing that. I still see it all like it was happening at the present moment.
I suddenly decided to get out of my room to watch a movie, that’s when I walked into the horror, two heavily armed guys with guns on my parents, the other one on my sister between the living room and the kitchen while she bled from the side of her head. I screamed my lungs out. When she heard me scream and followed by my mother’s cry, she suddenly woke up. The death look had gone from her face, but we didn’t know that the death moved from her face and it became her. She summoned up some courage, something woke up in her, her need to protect what she had, her need to not feel useless and watch as the people she loved leave her and die while she is left to suffer through it.
It eventually drove her to a point of total insanity in just a heartbeat.
The third guy got off her to go look for the safe on his own, she crawled up to the kitchen drawers whilst the two were distracted by me, she got a butcher knife, as she turn the guy was behind her, without hesitation, she threw the knife at him, hitting him in the head, he fell and she got on top of him, chopped his head of first with multiple strikes to the neck, sprang to her, she then took the knife to chop his arm off, but his first scream alerted the other two who were still debating as to whom should go check what was going on.
One of the guys finally went in, he was riddled with bullets from the dead guys gun, she then turned to the guy laying in the pool of his own blood, riddled his head with all the bullets that was left in that gun. She then picked up the other guy, as the last guy was panicking, he shot my dad on his right leg, then pulled my mom and held her at gun point to the side of her breast, I had never been so afraid in my life. Not only because of what I feared the guy would do to my mom, but even more because of the look I saw in my sister’s face when she stormed in, it was worse than her death face or her terror nights, it was like someone pulled out all the demons and evil out of her in all its fury, she shot the guy twice on his shoulder without even compromising mom even in the struggle. He fell down and with whatsoever strength there was left in him, he said something. He said he was sorry and that he was doing what he was told to do to get his fix, he said they meant no harm and for a minute, with the sincerity in his voice and tears running down his face in terror, I was convinced that no matter how horrid the night had become, he was the highlight of the night, he needed to get to the hospital urgently but what happened next made me numb for weeks.
Karabo, in the middle of a sincere moment, shot the guy numerous times I couldn’t even count anymore, so much so that her body started shaking as if she was still being possessed by her demons, it was only when my mom called out her name, at once did she suddenly stop, stared into nothing with her eyes wide open, tears began coming down her cheeks again, following the dried up trails of the earlier ones.
She woke up from whatsoever nightmare her body and mind had travelled through, she stopped, looked at the gun in her hands which by the time was an AK47, looked around, slowly walked to the kitchen to look at the guys and they came back and looked at the last one, then dropped the gun down, fell down to her knees as the tears came down relentlessly, it was as if she had just walked into the scene and just got terrified by the aftermath.
Mom and dad went to her and hugged her and promised her everything was going to be alright, but she knew that in the midst of her protecting her family with all that she had and all she could do, she had once again messed up her life.
At the trial things started in her favour, she was portrait as a victim who acted in self defence, which was true. Her lawyer also mentioned that we were both still dealing with the shock, that we were so horrified by what had happened so much so that we both were unable to speak for weeks on end. And yet somehow, the defence team took all that the lawyer said and managed to make it work against us, used the state of the crime scene to make it seem like my sister had the makings of a serial killer, that if she was let loose she will strike in a different setting. It didn’t help that her history with mental breakdowns and the once suicide attempt were also brought into light.
“Your honour, I put it to you that although the defence team agrees that the accused is a victim and acted in self defence, the look at the actual crime scene explicitly show that she did more damage than the perpetrators would have done. She is not well, and in another minor violent situation, who knows what she will do, god forbid even worse. If we let her be free, we are not only putting her and her family in danger, but the community around her. If the tables were turned, this crime scene would depict a crime of passion. A dangerous mind, living freely amongst society.” The defence argued.
He said it like the three had every right to break into our home and terrorise us, rape my sister, shoot my father, hold my mother at gunpoint, all for a goddamn fix that we never even asked them to get themselves hooked on in the first place. “Bullshit!” I snapped from the gallery. Come to think of it, that was the first time I said anything ever since what happened. That was all the media needed to blow things out of control, my parents threatened one newspaper that got lost in the craze, published lies to make more sales since almost everyone was writing the same things in different words, they were a smaller publication so they couldn’t afford the lawsuits so they released an apology.
My dad’s leg healed, but his heart was still heavy, his daughter was being ridiculed and persecuted. Everyone was quick to forget about the three guys who invaded us, why couldn’t they put themselves in our shoes, in Karabo’s shoes. She is not crazy. He went in and out of hospital because of his heart and high blood pressure, and my mom was just trying to keep it all together for all our sakes. Then, something unexpected happened, Karabo asked to speak to dad in a private area at the hospital, we didn’t know what they spoke about. Even before everything, Karabo has always been more comfortable opening up to dad than mom, even after the adoption.
In the first few months of Karabo being at home, she walked around with her death face, kept to herself, until one day dad told her about how he and mom met and then for the first time, she laughed. From then on they have been close, and mom was just happy to see her opening up to them.They had made a deal, if dad stopped going in and out hospital and started getting stronger again, she will ask to be put in the mental hospital. This didn’t seem much of a fair deal to me nor did it make sense, except, she knew she needed help in the three years that she got a sentence in, and she would make an effort to get better. And for a moment in a long time, things seemed to be going well for our family, we were healing. Dad got stronger, Karabo opened up more in family sessions and with her doctor and finally seemed like three years would go by in no time.
And then it happened. When we found out that those boys, their boss asked to speak to us. It was Karabo biological mother, she found that her boys attacked a family; a family she later found out adopted her daughter. She explained how, she denied the boys anymore drugs until they did a job to prove themselves loyal to her, they had to bring a certain amount of money each or she was going to get them killed. She had attempted to put her child out of the danger of her business, but somehow, that plan fell apart the night those three boys brought her mother’s demons to her, the night Karabo finally gave into her insanity.
Now my sister requested that she get an increased sentence, she fears what she will do if she gets out. Her mother cursed her whole life by just giving birth to her. Dad still visits her, he is the only one she now speaks to or sees, not us, not her doctor, no one except dad.
So there you have it, even if you still believe the rumours to this, or hold your own negative opinions, but at least now, you do so knowing the facts, and most importantly the truth, from the horse’s mouth.
How To Be Single (2016)
3 out of 5 stars
This movie has been said to be a “hybrid of a romantic comedy and ribalds girls just wanna have fun.”
I love how they have a fresh new look at being single than the usual “single but rushing to find someone to walk down the isle with”. Which basically just highlights that everyone who is single is looking to get into a relationship, but time has changed.
The movie has a realistic approach to modern day lifestyle instead of trying to force old traditional romantic comedy into today’s life. The 2016 film directed by Christian Ditter and written by Abby Kohn and Marc Silverstein deserves a 8.5/10 from me.
The fault in our stars (2014)
4 out of 5 stars
Based on John Green’s bestselling novel, the film offers the first-person accounts of Hazel Grace Lancaster (Woodley), a bright 16-year-old whom has lived almost her whole life with cancer.
Her one dream being to meet he favourite author Peter Van Houten’s postmodern cancer-themed novel, (An Imperial Affliction.)
Hazel then meets Augustus Waters (Ansel Elgort) clever, handsome 18-year-old whose basketball career was cut short when the cancer took his right leg, but seems to have had a full recovery.
Augustus’s fear is oblivion and Hazel’s fear is leaving her parents paralysed after her death. Which is why she goes all the way to Amsterdam to meet Peter Van Houten. She hoped that the reason why the character dies in the middle of a sentence is that even though it’s realistic, that we can die in the middle of life, there could also be life after death for the ones left living.
To me, Shailene Woodley and Ansel Elgort played the roles very beautifully, so much so that even three years later after release, the storyline is still intriguing and timeless.
Truly, theirs was the greatest love story ever told.